


Raging Fire

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Fandom Birthday Playlist [33]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Matchmaking, No Smut, Online Dating, Pastor Killian Jones, Pining, Sexual Tension, cause I know what people tend to expect, just to be clear with the pastor thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-12-16 23:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21044213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: Pastor Killian Jones is pining for Emma Swan, but he doesn’t think she will ever see him as anything more than a spiritual advisor. Cue David and Robin who come up with the not-so-brilliant idea to create a fake dating profile for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kmomof4](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kmomof4/gifts).

> * Based on a prompt on the tumblr blog CS Prompter and inspired by the lyrics to the song of the same name by Phillip Phillips.  
* Read the tags - this isn't smut. Though we've got some sexual tension and maybe some steamy stuff ahead (hence the M rating)

** _We are dead to rights born and raised. We are thick and thin 'til our last days. So hold me close and I'll surrender to your heart. You know how to give and how to take. You see every hope I locked away, so pull me close and surrender to my heart. Before the flame goes out tonight, yeah, we'll live until we die. So come out, come out, come out, won't you turn my soul into a raging fire? Come out, come out, come out 'til we lose control into a raging fire, into a raging fire. Come out, come out, come out, won't you turn my soul into a raging fire?_ **

Truth be told, Pastor Killian Jones was always slightly nervous whenever Emma Swan entered his office. His palms would sweat so badly he always prayed she wouldn’t notice the way he constantly rubbed them up and down his pants beneath his desk. She had commented once how he was always fidgeting. 

“It must be how you get your thoughts in order,” she’d speculated.

Yeah, he’d let her go with that assumption. 

Of course, he always left the door that led to the church secretary’s office wide open. After all, the Bible said ministers of the faith should be above reproach. 

But it was also so he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Like take her hand and brush his thumb over her knuckles or - you know - grab her and kiss her. Both would most likely send her running from the room, but the latter would also most likely get him fired by the church elders. 

So yeah, he left the door wide open. And constantly pushed his chair inch by inch farther away from his desk and closer to the wall. The more distance between them the better.

He wasn’t a priest, for God’s sake, so he had every right to date. In theory. Yet few people saw him as anything more than a spiritual leader - someone aloof and far above them. And despite Martin Luther centuries ago putting a big stamp of approval on matrimony, even protestants got a bit squirrelly at the thought of their ministers having sexual desires, much less acting on them. It was why most of his classmates at seminary were frantically searching for a willing partner to put a ring on it. 

Did people even say that anymore? He was a bit rusty on pop culture these days too - a parishioner caught him listening to U2 once and they expressed worry about the message that he was sending to the teenagers. What they would do if they caught him listening to Beyonce, he didn’t want to imagine. 

At any rate, he hadn’t seen the need in his mid twenties to settle down, so now here he was, 38 years old and seen by every woman in town as off limits. Oh sure, moms and grandmas were always shoving their daughters and granddaughters at him. But what young woman really wanted to date a minister? 

No one, that’s who, and certainly not Emma Swan, Storybrooke’s new deputy on the police force. The only reason she even darkened the doors of Storybrooke Baptist to begin with was because her adoptive brother, the town’s sheriff, dragged her here. When Killian’s gaze had landed on her that first Sunday, he hadn’t expected her to come back. Slouching in the pew next to her brother, she looked as if she wanted to be anywhere in the world but church. She’d even noticed his gaze on her, and pierced him with a glare as if to say, “go ahead, preacher boy, try to save me.” It had been intimidating to say the least - it wasn’t as if the congregation was that big. Yet he’d slipped his guitar strap over his head and started up the worship band anyway. 

She’d perked up a tiny bit when the music started, the look of surprise clear on her face that they weren’t singing hymns. And maybe - he hoped - surprised that the music was actually good, with a folk-rock feel. 

Okay, maybe that last part was wishful thinking. It was probably also wishful thinking to assume that he had anything to do with the fact that she kept accompanying David and Mary Margaret to service every Sunday. 

Then she’d barged into his office one day after work, causing him to drop his Bible on the floor and knock over the cup of pens and pencils on his desk. 

“You’re a minister, so that means, you . . . you know . . . can help people talk through shit - crap, I mean talk through crap.” She’d squeezed her eyes shut in mortification at her accidental swearing, and Killian had barely contained his laughter. Then she’d wrinkled her nose adorably as she’d cautiously opened one eye. 

And that was the precise moment things had shifted for Pastor Killian Jones. Shifted from passively admiring Emma Swan’s beauty to being completely infatuated. And yes, he did help people talk through their shit (he was British, people could seriously stop tripping over their words around him for God’s sake), so Emma started stopping by once a week after her last shift at the police station.

It started as a way for her to process the transition from Boston PD to a small town force, but slowly over time, she opened up more. He had explained pastor/congregant confidentiality, that even in a court of law he couldn’t be compelled to divulge what she told him. He had watched her visibly deflate at that, and once enough time had passed for him to earn her trust, she had opened up more. 

And the more she opened up, the more he fell in love with her. Hence the drastic measures to prepare himself before each meeting. 

But today, Emma Swan didn’t give him time to prepare. It was like the first time she had blown into his office: he dropped his Bible and knocked over half the items on his desk.

“Did you hear?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“Ummm . . . “ he was normally an eloquent man; it was part of what made him good at his job, but Emma had a way of turning him into a bumbling teenager.

“Storybrooke Hope House is closing!” she explained, beginning to pace back and forth in his small office.

Killian let out a long sigh, and it wasn’t just sympathy that stirred in his chest. He and Emma shared eerily similar stories of being in the foster care system. It was a Baptist foster care program that placed children in actual loving homes that first planted the seed for his future career. Walking his brother through lymphoma when he was only twenty two and engaged to kind-hearted Elsa was the final push into the ministry. Six years later, his brother was twenty-eight, cancer free and the father of two as he watched with pride as Killian was ordained as a Baptist minister. 

In other words, Killian didn’t want Hope House to close any more than Emma did.

“All the kids in that home will be divided up into the system,” Emma continued, still pacing, “and you know what that means.”

“Aye,” Killian said, waiting patiently for Emma to get all of her anger out.

“Granny loves each of those kids like her own,” Emma fumed as she plopped down in the chair across from Killian’s desk, “and they’ve all been there most of their lives now, right?”

Killian nodded. Felix and Peter, both 14, were Granny’s oldest. Henry was twelve. Then there was Wendy, eleven, John, eight, and Michael, six. The latter, siblings, had been there since their parents died five years prior. Even Felix and Peter had a difficult time remembering any other home, and Henry had arrived as a colicky infant. The six of them were true siblings to one another and even Granny’s adult granddaughter, Ruby, was family to them. 

“Then we can’t let this happen!” Emma’s jade eyes flashed as she slammed a fist on Killian’s desk. 

Killian leaned forward, his desire to take her hand stronger than it had ever been. “I’ve been on the phone all morning, Emma. Granny is the house mother, but she doesn’t own the property or run the mission. The board sees it as a drain on resources and plans on selling the property. Granny wants to buy it from them and keep going, but she doesn’t have the funds. Besides that, the mission organization will no longer be sending the monthly check for food, clothing, and other necessities.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “What is this stupid organization anyway, and what could be more important than orphans?”

Killian cleared his throat and forced himself to school his features. He had already thrown his Bible across the room earlier today in anger. Not his finest moment.

“They’re called World Relief, and they’ve decided polar bears are in greater need with the ice caps melting.They’re shifting all their finances to environmental causes. They said - “ Killian clenched his jaw as he remembered the flighty woman he’d spoken to on the phone, “that’s what is trending right now. It’s what people want to give towards.”

Emma’s mouth fell open and her cheeks pinked with rage. God, she was glorious.

“You have to be fucking kidding me!” she yelled, then promptly clamped both hands over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered sheepishly. 

Killian couldn’t stop his grin. “No apology necessary. I feel as strongly as you do about this. The organization is supposed to be Christian, and the Bible is very clear that we are to care for orphans and widows. I told the woman that on the phone.”

“What did she say?”

“She threw back Genesis chapter one at me, then hung up before I could get into a theological debate with her.”

Emma smiled back, though her righteous indignation still simmered below the surface. “Which you would have won, I’m sure.”

Killian lifted one shoulder in mock modesty. “Well, I was top of my class in seminary.”

They both fell silent, and Emma gnawed on her lower lip. Her very inviting lip that he himself would like to taste. He dug his fingers into his thigh and clenched his teeth.

“How much does Granny need to buy the property?”

“Three hundred thousand.”

Emma whistled. “Oh boy.”

“This is a coastal town. I’m surprised it’s not half a million.”

Emma drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair, slouching. Her brow furrowed in thought, then she looked at him with an intensely earnest expression. 

“Will you help me?”

Killian blinked and shook his head. “Do what?”

“Save Hope House. Keep Granny and the kids in their home. Don’t churches do fundraisers for this kind of stuff all the time?”

Killian wished that were true. Well, it was some of the time. It was just that his congregation seemed more concerned about raising money for building improvements and sending their teenagers on ski trips than on helping those in need. Yet as he looked into Emma’s eyes, vulnerable in a way he only got to see on brief occasions, he knew with sudden clarity that helping Hope House was the right thing to do.

“Okay, Emma, but it’s going to take a lot of work and most likely the whole town to do this.”

Emma grinned broadly and jumped from her seat. She lunged across his desk, knocking over even more of his stuff, and grabbed him in a quick and awkward hug. 

“You just might make me believe in miracles, Pastor Jones,” she told him as she rushed from his office. 

All Killian could do was sit there in shock, her hug making his office spin.

***************************************************************

Their booth at Ruby’s, Storybrooke’s popular diner, was covered in papers and files, and Emma’s fingers were flying over the keyboard of her laptop. Killian smiled as he watched her, thinking how bloody brilliant she was. Her passion for the home Granny ran was evident in the time and thought she had put into her ideas. Killian had come with ideas of his own, of course, and they had brainstormed together which ones would bring in the most money. Emma had also researched grassroots fundraising online and started a spreadsheet. They had also decided to bite off a more reasonable goal: twenty-five thousand for a decent down payment on the property. Still a hefty sum, but much less daunting than three hundred thousand. 

“Emma!”

Killian tore his gaze away from Emma’s face to see August Booth standing there. Emma closed her laptop and smiled. 

“Hey, August, what are you up to?”

“Just here to grab some dinner. Did you get my text earlier about the game Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “sorry I didn’t respond. Been kinda busy today. But Saturday sounds great. Mary Margaret and I were wondering what to bring. Ruby said she’s got chips and dip covered, right?”

“Yeah, and Robin said Regina’s making some kind of dessert, so - but you know what, I can text you later. I don’t want to interrupt your date.”

“Oh, this isn’t a date,” Emma assured with a casual wave of her hand, “this is just Pastor Jones from church. We’re working on a fundraiser thing.”

_ Just Pastor Jones. _No three words had ever cut so deep.

“Oh right!” August chuckled a bit nervously. “I remember now. I’ve gone a few Sundays with my dad Marco.”

_ Right. The prodigal son who kept begging for more money from his struggling father while he fucked his way around the world. _Killian pushed the thoughts aside as he forced a smile to his face. Sometimes he hated knowing so much about half the town. 

“I remember, nice to see you again.”

“Same here,” August said, his face coloring slightly as he fidgeted. That was another thing that got old when you were a pastor - people acting nervous around you. Like you could see into their souls or something.

_ No, August, I just let your father weep on my shoulder. _

“Well, see you later,” August muttered with a nod of his head.

“See you Saturday,” Emma told him. Once he’d left, Emma turned to Killian. “Speaking of which, are you going to August’s Saturday to watch the game?”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “Uh, no.”

Emma frowned. “Why not? David, Robin, and Will are all going. Actually, I think half the church will be there, even August’s dad.”

Killian shrugged one shoulder, wishing heat wasn’t filling his face. “I don’t really get invited to that kind of stuff.”

Emma seemed genuinely confused. “Why the hell not?”

She was cussing more around him now, which was strangely heartwarming. “You know, the pastor shows up, and it kind of kills the festive mood.” He attempted to laugh it off, but it came out sounding much too self-deprecating. “Now, what were you saying about a sponsorship program?”

He forced himself to listen to Emma’s words as she turned her laptop screen so he could see. He tried not to keep thinking about the way she had referred to him: “this is just Pastor Jones.” Why was it so hard to believe this could be a date? He glanced down at his khaki pants and blue button down shirt, then over at August waving goodbye to Ruby with his take out bag in hand. Emma probably preferred the man’s more rugged wardrobe of tight jeans and black leather. Not much different than how Killian had dressed once upon a time, but when the elders of Storybrooke Baptist hired him eight years ago, they had told him in no uncertain terms that his skinny jeans, leather, and earring had to go. 

Outside, August Booth climbed on his Harley and peeled out of the parking lot. 

Yeah, the elders had told him his motorcycle had to go too. No wonder Killian was now sitting here in his khaki pants as nothing more than _ just Pastor Jones _. 

************************************************************

Emma arched her back, her hands fisted in the sheets as scruff rubbed deliciously against her inner thigh. She let go of the sheets to bury her fingers in dark hair instead, yanking the man who was doing such a thorough job of pleasuring her up to hover over her. He smirked at her, his blue eyes dark with desire.

“Emma.” 

She loved the husky way he said her name.

“Killian,” she whimpered, “please, I need you inside me.”

Emma jolted awake, her pulse hammering and desire coursing through her at the images from her dream. She pressed both hands to her flaming cheeks and prayed she hadn’t actually said Killian’s name out loud. The loft didn’t exactly have a lot of privacy, and the last thing she needed was her brother and sister-in-law hearing her moaning the pastor’s name in her sleep. 

Emma groaned as she grabbed her pillow and pressed it to her face. She had to stop having these dreams! Killian was a _ pastor _ ! She also had to stop admiring the way his muscles stretched the fabric of his shirts, the way his hair curled over those adorable elf ears of his, and she _ definitely _had to stop staring at his lips constantly. Staring at his lips led to fantasies about his kisses, which inevitably led to fantasies about . . . 

She was going to hell for sure.

Emma tossed her pillow across the room wishing she could transfer these stupid feelings to someone else - anyone else. She should have known better the minute he strapped on that guitar the Sunday morning David and Mary Margaret dragged her to church. You didn’t get turned on by a man’s voice when he was singing church songs, you just didn’t.

Had she mentioned she was going straight to hell?

Emma’s phone dinged, and she reached over to grab it off her nightstand. She rolled her eyes when she saw she had a notification from her dating app. The app Mary Margaret and Ruby had practically forced her to sign up for. There had been precious few men on it she had even been remotely interested in, and it had resulted in zero dates. 

Maybe because she was subconsciously comparing them all to a certain pastor? Nope. No. Definitely not. Impossible. 

The notification on Emma’s phone from the dating app said: “We’ve found a potential match for you! Check out this bachelor’s profile!” Often Emma cleared such notifications without a thought, but for some reason, she opened it now. Maybe there would be some man candy to distract her from her insanely hot and sexually frustrating dream. She clicked on the notification and the app opened. As her recommended bachelor’s profile appeared, a smile spread slowly across Emma’s face.

“Well, hel-_ lo _.”

*************************************************************

Killian knew something was up the minute David and Robin walked into his office. Sure, every once in awhile the two of them would convince him to join them for lunch at Ruby’s if he didn’t have a meeting, but on those occasions his two best friends were filled with teasing banter and casual back slaps. Today, they both seemed uncharacteristically intense, and perhaps . . . guilty? Killian leaned back in his desk chair, preparing himself for a confessional. Protestants didn’t do that, supposedly, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hear them on a regular basis. With David and Robin, he wasn’t expecting it to be anything earth shattering. They were good men; loyal to a fault with a strong moral code. They’d probably had too much to drink at August’s place then run over a garden gnome or something. I mean, there was a reason they felt comfortable enough to be close friends with the community pastor. 

“Don’t be mad,” David said right off the bat.

“Nice opening, mate,” Robin gritted out.

Killian’s brow arched. Okay, not what he was expecting . . . “What did the two of you do?”

Robin plopped down in one of the chairs people sat in when pouring their hearts out to their minister. “Something to help you out. We’re worried about you.”

_ Oh shit, this can’t be good . . . _

“It’s time you made a move where my sister is concerned,” David said. He was still standing, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Killian couldn’t tell if he was encouraging him to date Emma or threatening him.

“We’ve talked about this,” Killian groaned, rubbing his temple wearily.

“Exactly, all you ever do is talk.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Killian snapped at Robin who had propped his feet on the desk.

“Anything!” Robin shot back. 

“You don’t understand the position I’m in. Remember what she called me -”

“Just Pastor Jones,” David cut in, “yeah, we know. Which is exactly why we decided to help you out.”

Killian’s brow furrowed as David came around next to him, pulling something up on his phone.

“Now don’t freak out,” David explained, “but we set up a dating profile for you on the same app Emma uses.”

“What!” Killian cried. 

“Just give it a try,” David insisted, handing him the phone. He already had Killian’s profile on the screen. They had used a picture from when the three of them had gone to a soccer game together, taken in profile with the brim pulled low over Killian’s face. 

“KJ? Seriously?” Killian asked.

David shrugged.

Killian arched a brow at his friend and scowled before looking back at the profile. He read it out loud:

“I enjoy music, inspirational reading, meditation, and soccer. I’m looking for a woman who can see me for who I really am. I’d like a deep friendship before pursuing romance, but casual flings aren’t my style.”

“See!” Robin said. “None of that is a lie.”

Killian set the phone down on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “It isn’t the whole truth either.”

“You wanted her to get to know you as just a man, not a pastor. Well, here’s your chance.”

Killian shook his head. “No. No way. Delete it right now.” He slid the phone towards David, but David slid it right back.

“Just give it a chance.”

“Let’s say she does get to know me on this app. What happens when she finds out I bent the truth? And what if the church elders get wind of this? The pastor can’t be on a dating app!”

“Why not?” Robin asked. “You didn’t take a vow of celibacy.”

Killian looked back at David. “She’s your sister. How can you be okay with this?”

“Because ever since she started meeting with you every week, she’s . . . lighter. She’s actually humming in the morning and smiling more. I haven’t seen her this way since before that dirtbag Neal.”

“So you want me to be yet another dirtbag who tricks her on a dating app?”

David quirked a grin as he grabbed up his phone and waved at Killian. “She’s already messaged you.”

The blood drained from Killian’s face. “What?”

“And that ten year age difference you’re always worried about? Well, your real age is on your profile, and she obviously doesn’t care.”

Despite his better judgement, Killian snatched the phone from David’s hand. Sure enough, there was a tiny number next to the message icon on his profile page. 

Robin leaned over the desk. “Some other women have messaged you too, so if things don’t work out with Emma -”

“Robin!” David snapped.

“Just saying . . . “

Killian pressed the envelope icon and a series of messages with profile pictures came up. His eyes landed on Emma’s picture, ignoring all the others. He pulled up her message.

“KJ, I couldn’t resist sending you a message when I saw that your profile pic was taken at an MLS game. You just don’t see that much. I’m a fan, too. Can you believe Atlanta United? Who would have thought that city of all places would win the national championship? Anyway, message back if you want.”

“He’s smiling like an idiot,” Robin said.

“Look who’s _ not _deleting his profile,” David added smugly.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * Yeah, I know, this got longer . . .
> 
> * Thank you to @teamhook for letting me "borrow" the first name "Hester" for the Blue Fairy's real world self. She used it first in her cssns story "Dark Blue Star." It's such a great name, I thought it was canon!
> 
> * Also head over to my tumblr (same url) and check out the picset I made for this story. In it is the "profile pic" for "KJ's" dating profile. Hopefully that clears up how Emma didn't recognize him? (The pic I used is a stock photo that isn't Colin but sure does look like him!)

**Chapter Two **

** _You know time will give and time will take_ **

** _All the memories made will wash away_ **

** _Even though we've changed, I'm still here with you_ **

** _If you listen close, you'll hear the sound_ **

** _Of all the ghosts that bring us down_ **

** _Hold on to what makes you feel_ **

** _Don't let go, it's what makes you real_ **

_ Sometimes I feel like my job is the first thing people see. _

**I certainly get that. People always expect me to have these deep pearls of wisdom. I just want to have a casual conversations sometimes though. You know - just talk about sports or movies or whatever.**

_ For me it’s these assumptions people make about cops. And why do people get nervous when you say you’re a cop? I don’t arrest people for speeding two weeks ago, lol. _

**Haha. Believe me, I understand completely.**

_ Well, try being a woman in a male dominated profession. _

**I’m sure your brilliant at what you do. **

Killian leaned against his kitchen counter, watching the coffee percolate with bleary eyes. He was exhausted from the hours he and Emma were spending every night chatting online, but he’d gladly continue running on fumes in exchange for the way they were getting to know each other. 

Well, mostly. He sighed as he mentally went over their conversations in his head. He had let Emma believe he was a therapist, justifying it by telling himself that giving counsel  _ was _ part of his job. He hadn’t exactly lied, either, just hadn’t corrected her assumption. 

He groaned as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. These lies of omission were wearing on him. And what would he tell a member of his congregation in a similar situation? He would tell that person he was living a lie and encourage him to come clean, that’s what. Killian was getting in deeper and deeper, and if he didn’t tell Emma the truth soon, he’d end up with a mess too big to clean up. 

He placed the carafe of hot coffee on a tray along with two mugs, creamer, and sugar. He then carried the tray outside to the front porch of his small bungalow. He wished it had a back porch facing the water instead of this one that faced the cul de sac. He didn’t have a choice, however. This was the parsonage, the home owned by the church for him to live in. It made him wonder if Storybrooke Baptist preferred their ministers to be bachelors since the home was two bedroom, one bath, and only one thousand square feet. Perfect for him now, but he wanted a family some day . . . 

Speaking of his fantasies for the future, Emma Swan parked her yellow bug in front of the curb and exited her car. He smiled at her as he set the coffee tray down on a small table, and she smiled back as she climbed the three small steps to the porch. 

“Well, this is a sweet thing for you to do!”

Killian scratched behind his ear. “It’s also a necessary thing to do. I can’t be alone with a woman in my house.”

Both of Emma’s brows lifted. “That’s ridiculous. Who would know, anyway?”

“Well, her, first of all,” Killian chuckled, nodding his head to the house across from the cul de sac. Hester Blue was supposedly sweeping off her front porch, but her eyes were laser focused on Killian’s and the woman he was entertaining. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Emma muttered as she followed his gaze to Hester.

“Aye. She and her husband are both retired and he’s on the board of elders. I swear they chose this house as the parsonage on purpose so Hester could keep an eye on me.”

Emma shook her head. “That’s so wrong!”

“There’s also their weekly Sunday dinner invitation which turns into a critique of my sermon from that morning’s service.”

Emma plopped down on one of the wicker chairs next to the coffee tray. “I always knew that woman was shady,” she muttered as she poured some coffee. 

Killian took the seat across from her and reached for the carafe as she relinquished it. His fingers brushed hers with the lightest of touches. His eyes bounced up to hers, and he inwardly exulted when she gave a nervous laugh then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Perhaps he wasn’t  _ just Pastor Jones _ after all. 

They had decided that the easiest way to make money quickly was a 5K run. The overhead for such an event was fairly low, meaning that ninety percent of the entrance fee per runner would go straight to Hope House. They would also have a one mile fun run, a tot trot, and a stroller walk for those who were too young or not quite physically able to do a 5K. The race would end on Main Street, where local businesses and residents could “adopt” a booth. In other words, with the understanding that every cent would go to Hope House.

“Do you really think people will be willing to set up and run a booth, even sell things, if there’s nothing in it for them?” Emma asked, biting on her bottom lip as she looked over the sketch Killian had done of the street in front of Ruby’s Diner. 

“In Storybrooke?” Killian asked. “Yes, I really do. Now that everyone knows about what Granny is facing, they want to help. This town really does come together to help one of their own. They just need a little bit of inspiration.”

“So thank goodness the town’s beloved pastor is involved.”

Killian shook his head. “I was talking about you, Emma.”

She blushed prettily even as she rolled her eyes and shrugged. “You know, every woman over the age of sixty in this town is trying to set you up. How are you still single?”

Killian let out a nervous laugh as he scratched behind his ear. “Because every woman over the age of sixty is trying to set me up.”

Emma leaned her head back and let out a free and easy laugh. It was something he’d never heard from her, and no wonder. All their previous talks had been concerning rather heavy topics. He longed to hear that laugh again. He cleared his throat. 

“I could ask you the same question?” he teased. “Or is that August fellow the lucky man who claims your heart?”

Emma shook her head, her golden waves tumbling over her shoulders. “You and your eloquence, pastor, no wonder you write sermons for a living. But why would you think I would be seeing August?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, you seemed happy to see him in the diner. And I have noticed you have a penchant for men in leather jackets. Graham Humbert when you first moved to town, if I recall?”

“Are you saying I have a thing for bad boys?”

“No, Graham Humbert, from what I can tell, is a good guy. Everyone in town loves him.”

Emma arched a brow as she took another sip of her coffee. “I think that may have been the problem. He was too good for me.”

Killian leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Emma, that isn’t true at all. You deserve every happiness.”

Emma’s eyes widened slightly, and he saw her knuckles whiten as her grip on her mug tightened. Her eyes darted back and forth as she searched his, and the air around them fairly crackled with tension. The moment was broken, however, when Emma let out an inelegant snort. 

“You have to say that, Pastor Jones.”

Killian swallowed and licked at his dry lips. Over the rim of her cup, Emma’s gaze darted to the quick movement of his tongue. Or maybe he imagined it. 

“You know, Ms. Swan,” he teased with a quirk of his brow, “you don’t know me as well as you think you do. 

Emma narrowed her eyes as she set down her mug, then she leaned back cockily in her chair. “Oh, I know you. You have the largest vocabulary of any man I’ve ever met. You first thought of going into the ministry because of a Baptist mission that placed you and your brother in a loving home when you were thirteen. You were sure about that when you helped your brother and his wife walk through his battle with cancer. Liam survived and is incredibly proud of his little brother. Except you prefer to be called his  _ younger  _ brother. You adore your twin nephews and your sister in law who are the best things to ever happen to your brother. You like to hang out with my brother, but you won’t drink unless you leave Storybrooke, and even then only one beer.” 

She smirked at him as she reached for her coffee and took a sip with smug satisfaction. Killian threw her a smirk of her own, his brow arching in a more flirtatious way than he had yet dared in her presence. He leaned casually back in his chair, his chin resting on his hand. 

“I wouldn’t look so victorious if I were you, Swan. You’ve missed quite a bit.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry, you were top of your class in seminary.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed casually, examining his fingernails, “but did you know I rode a motorcycle

the entire time I was there?”

Emma snorted. “Yeah right.”

“No really. And I used to dress mostly in leather.”

“No way.”

Killian laughed. “It’s true! This khaki thing is somewhat of a uniform. It was made very clear to me how I was to dress when I was hired here. I still have my old stuff crammed in the back of my closet.”

Emma studied him in such a scrutinizing fashion, he almost started to squirm under her gaze. Before he realized what she was doing, Emma had leapt from her seat and was marching through his front door and into his house. 

“Emma!” he cried out frantically. “You’re not supposed to . . . “ He glanced back at Hester who had paused in her porch sweeping to stare boldly across the street.. “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he followed Emma into the house.

“Where is your bedroom?” her voice carried through the house. “God, you’re neat.”

“Umm . . . aye . . . Emma . . . “

“Oh, here’s your room. Man, this house is small.” She strode right into his bedroom and went straight to his closet. She opened the small storage area and started sifting through his clothes, hangars rattling. 

“Emma,” he protested, leaning against the wall beside the closet, “you really shouldn’t be in here at all, and especially not my bedroom.”

“Calm down, preacher boy,” Emma said, voice muffled by the clothes she had plunged herself into.  _ HIs  _ clothes. “Oh. My. God.”

She almost tripped over her own feet as she yanked the garments from the very back of his miniscule closet. Dangling from her hands were three pairs of skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, and a crimson leather vest. She tossed them on the bed with gleeful excitement. 

“Killian Jones, you have  _ leather  _ skeletons in your closet.

Emma laughed at her own joke, her face flushed and her jade eyes flashing. Killian Jones - she had dropped the pastor title. All he could do was stand there, eyes blinking, mouth hanging open. Emma’s eyes were drawn to the chest of drawers behind them, and Killian’s stomach dropped as he immediately realized what it was. 

“Is this a jewelry box?” she asked, reaching behind him to snatch up the mahogany box. He tried to get it away from her, but she dashed just out of his reach. He chased her around his bed (not the situation he had fantasized about), and she faked him out by diving across his mattress. 

“What’s this?” she teased as she opened the box and pulled out a skull and crossbone necklace.

Killian backed away from her, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. Partly out of embarrassment and partly out of the temptation of Emma Swan sprawled across his bed. “Aye, I had a bit of a pirate phase.” 

She gasped again as she pulled out something else. “Is this . . . an earring!?”

Killian’s face was now bright red. “I just had the one, but . . . yes.”

“Aw, it’s a dangly little black cross.” Emma got up on her knees and shuffled close to him. He was afraid his bodily reaction to her close proximity would be embarrassingly evident, but Emma seemed oblivious as she lifted the earring and held it against his lobe. 

“Emma,” he groaned as he leaned away. 

Mercifully, Emma hopped up off the bed, and his body began to relax. Somewhat.

“Okay,” Emma said, adding the jewelry to the clothing she had already spread across the bed, “I need to see the full effect.”

“I’m sorry . . . what?”

“You know,” Emma said, spinning her hand in a circular motion, “I need to see you wearing all of this. So I can get a visual picture of a younger, slightly rebellious Killian Jones.”

“No,” he said with a firm shake of his head, “definitely not.”

Emma pouted and bated her eyes. “Please?”

_ Bloody hell!  _ He could see why she had been so good in Boston in bail bonds. He let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine.”

Emma grinned broadly before running eagerly from the room so he could change. He muttered in disbelief to himself as he shed the khakis for jeans. They slid onto him like a second skin. He’d forgotten how comfortable they were. 

“Are you ready yet?” Emma asked from the other side of the door.

Killian shrugged into his old leather jacket. “Almost. I still need to do the jewelry.” He slid the charms over his neck, fastened the earring into his lobe, and then pulled the door open. Emma blinked rapidly as she took him in, her gaze sweeping from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. 

“I’ve got boots, actually,” Killian remarked, frowning at the loafers on his feet.

Emma gave him a teasing grin. “Yeah, that would have completed the look a bit better.” She drew closer, the grin slipping from her face as her eyes turned a darker shade of green. “You know, I think this may make you more approachable.” 

They were toe to toe now, and Killian felt lost in her gaze. “Try convincing Hester Blue across the street.”

Emma smiled again, this one small and a bit mischievous. She placed both hands on his chest, and his breath stuttered. Her hands slid up to his shoulders and she adjusted the collar of his leather jacket. “Who cares? I think you should wear what you want.”

Her fingers didn’t release his collar, if anything she tightened her grip. Killian’s gaze landed on her lips, pink and soft. He swayed closer to her, their noses brushing, and he clenched his jaw to stop himself from succumbing to the passion he felt thrumming in his veins. He was just about to speak, something to break the spell they had both fallen under, but before he could, she yanked on his jacket, pulling his lips to hers. He was shocked at first, but then the feel of her lips against his pulled him down into the desire he had been trying to fight for so long. He claimed her lips with hunger, and when she opened for him, he fully explored her mouth as he tangled his hands in her hair. One of Emma’s hands grasped the back of his neck, the other still fisted in his jacket. 

Killian was far too aware of the bed just a few feet behind him, and he knew if he didn’t stop this soon, he’d cross a line he shouldn’t. So with extreme reluctance, he broke the kiss, almost weeping when Emma chased his lips. 

“That was -” he gasped, his thoughts a jumbled mess in his brain. 

“- a mistake,” Emma finished for him, shoving him away. Her hair swirled around her as she spun quickly for the door of his small house. 

“Emma!” he called out, but he stopped himself from following her, though everything in him wanted to. 

But Hester Blue was still out there in the cul de sac, and she had already seen enough to get the gossip mill turning. He didn’t want to make things any worse for Emma than he already had. He groaned, covering his face with both hands as he collapsed onto the edge of his bed. 

This was why pastors didn’t date. 

*************************************************************

_ I’ll just warn you now: I have this bad habit of messing up every friendship I’ve ever had.  _

** _Is there a reason you’re bringing this up? Or are we airing out all of our flaws tonight?_ **

_ I don’t know. Maybe a bit of both? I mean, you have a right to know what you’re getting into. _

** _Does that mean you’re hopeful that this may go beyond cyberspace one day?_ **

_ Who says cyberspace anymore? How old are you? Wait! Is that your major flaw? Lying about your age to younger women? _

** _If I was going to lie I’d have picked a better age than 38._ **

_ 38 sounds pretty good if you’re 88. _

** _*snort* Point taken. But no, I am not on social security. Yet. But seriously, does the age gap bother you?_ **

_ Why should it? We’re both adults. And what’s that rule? Half your age plus seven? So you are officially NOT robbing the cradle. _

** _That’s such a creepy expression. But back to your earlier confession - why do you think you always mess up friendships?_ **

_I just do. I just did it again, actually. There’s this guy I’m good friends with, but after today,_ _it’s going to be awkward._

** _A guy, huh? Do I have competition?_ **

_ No, it’s not like that with him.  _

** _Are you sure about that?_ **

  
  


“I kissed him.”

Mary Margaret froze at Emma’s words, a soapy dishrag hovering over the dirty plate in her hand. 

“Kissed who?”

Emma swallowed nervously, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned over the counter. “Pastor Jones.”

A smile quirked at the corner of Mary Margaret’s lips. “Why are you whispering?” 

“Because I kissed. A.  _ Pastor _ .”

“He’s not a priest, Emma.” Mary Margaret chuckled as she rinsed off the clean plate. 

Emma groaned and dropped her forehead with a thunk to the countertop. “What am I going to do?” she groaned.

“Well,” Mary Margaret asked gently coming around the kitchen island and taking a seat on a barstool next to her sister-in-law, “let’s talk this through. First, who kissed who?”

“I kissed him. Just grabbed him and kissed him.”

“Wow. Well, okay, did he kiss you back?”

Emma’s face turned bright red. “Oh, yeah, and who would have thought Pastor Jones was such a good kisser?”

“Do I need to explain protestantism to you, Emma?” Mary Margaret asked with a teasing tone to her voice. 

Emma rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it. But still, you don’t expect ministers to, you know . . . “

“Be sexual? Attractive? Good in bed?”

“Whoah!” Emma yelped, recoiling slightly. “I didn’t say anything about sex!”

Mary Margaret gave her a knowing look. “But you’ve thought about it.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“Aha! You  _ have  _ thought about it!”

Emma rubbed at her temples. “I’m so screwed. I mean - I can never be screwed. At least not in a good way. By him.”

“Why not?”

“Cause hello, I’d have to marry him!”

Mary Margaret shrugged. “I mean if you want him like that, then yes. But not right away, you  _ can  _ date him.”

Emma’s fingers slid down to rub at her closed eyelids. “Okay, first of all, can you really see me married to a pastor? And second . . . “ she trailed off, her hands dropping to her lap, “there’s this other guy.”

“What?” Mary Margaret squealed, shaking Emma’s arm, “you didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!”

“Calm down, it’s not that. . . it’s . . . that stupid dating app you signed me up for. His name’s KJ, his profile pic is pretty hot, and,” she shrugged, “he’s easy to talk to.”

“Really?”

Emma scowled. “Don’t get so smug. We’re just talking.”

Mary Margaret rested her chin in her hand and regarded Emma with a long, intense look. “You know,” she finally said, “as much as I’d like to take credit for helping you find mister right with that app, I have to wonder. Why pursue something with this KJ guy when Killian is right in front of you?”

Emma’s eyes fell to the floor. “I’m not good enough for him, Mary Margaret, and everyone in town knows it.”

“All that matters is what  _ he  _ thinks.”

Emma chuckled wryly, “ I’m sure Killian knows I’m the last woman who could possibly be right for him.”

“Oh Emma, honey,” Mary Margaret said gently, taking her sister-in-law’s hands in hers, “have you even asked him?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to finish this! I hope you all enjoy the conclusion!

**Chapter Three**

** _Let the world leave us behind, let your heart be next to mine, before the flame goes out tonight . . . c’mon, c’mon, c’mon ,won’t you turn my soul into a raging fire?_ **

The 5k fundraiser grew until Emma had recruited a committee to run it. It was a great idea. Killian and Emma couldn’t do it all on their own, and with Mary Margaret, David, Robin, and Regina joining forces with them, they could delegate responsibilities. So yeah, it was a great idea. 

So why did Killian feel so depressed about it? Okay, who was he kidding? He missed having an excuse to be alone with Emma. Especially since THE KISS. Ever since that infamous lip lock, Emma had pulled back from him, and he couldn’t help thinking that forming this committee was more about creating a buffer between the two of them. 

At least Emma wasn’t pulling away from KJ. Their online chats were going stronger than ever, with an even heavier dose of flirting. He hated to admit it, but he lived for them. 

He was pathetic. And a liar. He was a pathetic liar. A pathetic liar who preached about goodness and kindness and strong character from the pulpit. Of course, he also preached about mercy, grace, and forgiveness. He really hoped Emma was listening to those in particular because he was going to need some serious mercy from her eventually. Basically, it was only a matter of time before the whole thing blew up in his face. 

But for now he was crammed between Emma and her brother in the corner booth at Ruby’s arguing with Regina over whether or not the cotton candy booth should be next to Jasmine Agrabah’s jewelry booth. 

“Jasmine does not want children with sticky fingers touching her jewelry!” Regina fumed, jabbing the formica table with one of her bright red fingernails. 

“She does have a point,” David admitted reluctantly.

Emma frowned as she leaned over the sketch Killian had made of the booths along Main Street. Her hair brushed against his shoulder, sending a spark along his arm. 

“Hmm,” she mused, “I hear you, Regina, but Sarah of Any Given Sundae specifically asked that she be on the opposite side of the street from the cotton candy booth, but if we move Jasmine . . .”

Killian groaned as he rubbed at his temple. “Why does this feel like one of those riddles math teachers give you?”

“Oh yeah!” Robin laughed, “With the dog, the chicken, and the bag of corn, but you can only take two at a time across the river -”

“Robin,” his wife interrupted, “focus please?”

Mary Margaret leaned across the table, tapping at the drawing, “What about Ruby’s booth? Is it gonna be food from the diner?”

Emma shook her head. “She wants to do something else and have her staff cover the diner. There’s a hot dog stand, but other than that, there’s no real food competition, so people may still come in here for burgers and fries. But Ruby’s donating a portion of her sales that night to the fundraiser.”

“That’s nice of her,” Mary Margaret smiled, “but what’s her booth going to be? Maybe we could put that next to the cotton candy booth.”

“Hey, Rubes!” Emma called out to the proprietress who was just finishing up with a customer behind the register, “We need the info on your booth for the carnival.”

Ruby grinned at the group as she sauntered over. Ruby wore a skirt shorter than the waitress uniforms and a shirt so tight the buttons strained to cover her bosom. She leaned against the edge of their booth, and Killian squirmed when her gaze seemed to zero in on him. 

“I’ve got an idea,” she practically purred, “kiss the pastor.”

Ruby winked at Killian to emphasize her point, and he felt his face grow hot as his friends guffawed. David shoved him with his elbow. 

“Ruby, we’re being serious,” Emma snapped. 

“So am I!” the brunette insisted. “My first thought was a kissing booth, but then I said to myself,  _ Ruby, come on, you’ve already kissed half the town anyway _ . But Pastor Jones here? Women will be lined up around the block for that.”

“You _ are  _ Storybrooke’s most eligible bachelor,” Regina said with none of her usual sarcasm.

“I doubt that,” Killian muttered as he stared at the table wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. 

“It’s true!” Regina insisted. “Before Robin, my mom even tried to set me up with you.”

Killian couldn’t help laughing at that. “Which you vehemently turned down if I recall.”

Regina arched her brow haughtily. “Of course. You and I, Jones, are oil and water.”

No one could argue with  _ that _ .

“I think your mother’s matchmaking was just a ploy to disguise her own crush on the minister,” Robin couldn’t help adding, to Killian’s dismay.

“Yes,” Regina agreed, a teasing spark to her eyes as Killian turned a deeper shade of red, “she did start listening more closely to the sermons than before.”

“And wearing tighter clothes to church,” Mary Margaret added. 

“Can we drop this, please?” Killian begged.

“See!” Ruby crowed. “Cora Mills would pay money to kiss the pastor. It should  _ totally _ be a booth. We’ll make a killing!”

Emma had remained strangely quiet, but she now spoke up forcefully. “Absolutely not. It’s inappropriate.”

“Oh come on, Emma,” Ruby argued, jabbing her friend in the shoulder, “don’t be such a prude. I vote for a kiss the pastor booth.”

“I second it!” Robin and David both said simultaneously, lifting their hands in the air. 

“Traitors,” Killian hissed.

“Kiss the pastor it is!” Regina announced, slapping both her hands on the tabletop.

“Kiss the pastor!” Mary Margaret echoed.

“I said NO!” Emma shouted, slamming both her fists on the table as she surged to her feet. The entire diner seemed to fall instantly silent, and the entire committee stared at Emma with wide eyes. The color drained from Emma’s face, then she turned and fled from the diner. 

“Well,” Regina said after the door slammed behind Emma, “it looks like  _ she  _ doesn’t want anyone’s lips on yours but hers.”

Killian’s jaw dropped. “Wait - how do you know about that?”

“I . . . uh . . . have customers,” Ruby muttered before hurrying away. 

Regina turned a pointed glare at Mary Margaret. Killian turned to his best friend’s wife with a betrayed expression. Mary Margaret’s eyes bounced from Regina, to David, to Killian, and back again.

“Well, um . . . you see, Emma told me, David overheard, he told Robin, and Robin told Regina.”

Killian groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“So . . . “ Robin spoke hesitantly, “does that mean the kiss the pastor booth is out?”

****************************************************************

Killian awakened with a stiff neck and a shooting pain in his lower back. His laptop was still propped up on his stomach, though the screen had gone dark. He struggled to sit up, his body protesting a night spent on the couch. Thirty eight was far too old for such sleeping arrangements.

He swung his legs around and sat up, reaching for his phone. He and Emma had chatted on the dating app until . . . what? Two a.m. maybe? They had talked about everything and nothing, except for the one thing he had planned on telling her when he got online last night. He still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to tell her the truth. 

It was eight in the morning, and a Wednesday, so Killian plopped back down on the couch and rummaged for the remote. He didn’t go into the office until noon on Wednesdays because of the evening services. Thank God because he felt like dirt. For the second time that morning, he grumbled under his breath that he was too old to be courting like a teenager, then he chuckled at himself. Emma would say he sounded old-fashioned. Or more accurately, KJ. She would tell KJ he was old-fashioned. 

Before Killian could even turn on the TV, there was a knock at the door. He frowned. Though everyone in Storybrooke knew where he lived, no one ever showed up unannounced. People only did that when he was in his office at the church. He was startled when he opened the door to find Emma standing there. He was even more concerned to see that her face was splotchy and her eyes were red-rimmed. She was wearing a ratty sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, and her hair was in a sloppy ponytail. 

“Emma, what’s wrong?”

She bit her lower lip and shuffled her feet. The sleeves of her sweatshirt were pulled down over her hands, and she fisted the fabric nervously. “I . . . I . . . “ she lifted her hands, still covered in the ends of her sleeves, and pressed them to her face. He wasn’t sure if she was crying, but her shoulders trembled. 

“Let’s sit down,” he told her quietly. He shut the door behind him and led her by the shoulders to the new porch swing he had put up.

“You got a swing,” Emma said in a watery voice, her hands dropping to her sides. 

“Aye, I did. Someone told me recently that it would be a lot more comfortable than a couple of chairs.”

Despite her obvious distress, Emma smiled at him as she sat down on the cushioned seat. She pushed her feet against the porch floor, grinning as the swing swayed and its chained creaked. Like a child, she stuck her feet straight out in front of her. 

“Well, what good is having a porch if you aren’t going to have a swing?”

He smiled in return, pleased that he’d brightened what was obviously a rough morning. He sat gingerly beside her, angling to face her and keeping a respectable distance between them. Across the cul de sac, he saw Hester Blue pause as she retrieved her morning paper. Her frown when she noticed him sharing the swing with Emma could have wilted her hydrangea bushes. This particular day, however, he could care less. He was far more concerned about Emma. 

“Now, what’s the matter?”

“Always so calm when I’m a mess,” she teased.

“It’s part of the job description.”

Killian waited patiently as Emma stared at her lap for a few moments. The early spring morning was chilly, but sunny, and the sound of birds singing made the silence between them less awkward. Emma pushed off with her toe again, and the swing wobbled. 

“Remember when I told you that I gave a baby up when I was sixteen?” She looked up at him hesitantly, and he nodded. “Well, it wasn’t a completely closed adoption. The papers I signed gave the child the right to find me if he ever wanted to, but only if he wanted to, you know? I mean, I always felt like it should be his choice, and I didn’t want to take that right away from him, yet I also didn’t want to bother him, if . . . God, I’m rambling.”

She had pushed her hands out of the ends of her sleeves and was now nervously rubbing them up and down her pajama pants. Tentatively, Killian reached out and placed his hand over hers. 

“It’s okay, Emma. I understand.”

“No, you don’t!” she cried out, her eyes wide, frightened, and brimming with tears. “I gave him up so he would have his best chance. I thought he would have a better home than I could give him, but I was wrong! He found me, Killian.”

He was back to Killian again after two weeks of frosty “Pastor Jones,” yet it wasn’t the victory it should have been, not when she was so distraught. He squeezed her hand in encouragement, and she took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. 

“He’s . . . that is, the baby boy I gave up is . . . he’s . . . Henry.”

Killian couldn’t stop from blinking in surprise. “Granny’s Henry?”

“Yes!” Emma cried out on another broken sob. “He was supposed to be adopted by this perfect little suburban family. I even picked them out myself from this file of families they had me go through.”

Killian jumped up, rushed inside to grab a box of tissues from the coffee table, and brought it out to her. She took a tissue gratefully and blew her nose loudly. Her button nose was adorably red, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her close and let her cry against his chest. 

“What happened?” he asked her softly. 

“They sent him back!” she shouted angrily, wadding the tissues in her fist. “Granny said he came to her because the parents who adopted him changed their minds before it was legally official. He had such horrible colic that they couldn’t  _ handle him _ . Can you believe that!”

Killian said nothing, knowing there was nothing  _ to  _ say. Granny had told him this story before, and it had made him angry too. You didn’t send a kid back like he was a pair of shoes that didn’t fit. HIs anger, however, wasn’t what Emma needed right now.

“They were supposed to love him!” Emma fumed, shoving her fist into her thigh. “Granny said she tried to find a family for Henry once he outgrew the colic, but everyone was wary about why he’d been given back. I should have kept him! I should have . . . I should have . . . ”

She lost her battle with the tears now and shocked Killian by collapsing against his chest. His heart thudded against his ribcage as he held her close and stroked her back. The swing rocked back and forth in a comforting rhythm, and eventually Emma’s shoulders no longer shook with crying, yet she still clung to him. 

“Emma,” he finally said softly against her hair, “ you were sixteen and in foster care yourself. What other option did you have?”

“Ruth said I could keep him, said she’d help. But I wanted him to have a real family. He didn’t. He ended up just like me.”

“No, Emma. Can’t you see? Granny loves him as her own. He’s lived in the same house since he was four months old, loves his siblings even though they aren’t his blood. He does have a family. Maybe not a traditional one, but a family nonetheless. And what are the odds that your brother would fall in love with Henry’s third grade teacher and move here? That you would follow four years later and live just down the street? Didn’t you say I’d have you believing in miracles? Because this is a miracle if I ever saw one.”

Emma was still and silent for a long moment. Killian felt his attraction to her swelling through every cell in his body, and he squeezed his eyes shut to pray for strength. This wasn’t the time to make a move on her; she had come to him as her spiritual advisor, as her counselor. He wanted this to be Emma pouring her heart out to a friend, but he couldn’t assume that. Even if this was his home and not the church.

Nevertheless, his hand seemed to move of its own volition, and before he realized it, he had cupped the back of her head and buried his fingers in her blond hair. Emma sighed against him and tucked herself into that perfect spot between his collarbone and his chin. His arms tightened around her. She lifted her tear stained face to look into his eyes, her gaze vulnerable. The air between them was charged, and he knew he should break eye contact, knew he should release her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, his hand slipped from the back of her head to trace her jaw. His thumb wiped gently at the tear stains on her cheek, and her eyes fell closed. 

That was what broke the tenuous thread of his willpower - the way her eyes fluttered shut. He bent towards her, and as their noses brushed, Emma tilted her head ever so slightly and parted her lips. He knew it was an invitation, and he took it. This kiss started out differently from their first - it was slow and achingly tender. Then Emma fisted his shirt in her hands and slid forward, setting the swing in motion. A groan escaped Killian’s throat, and he swore he felt Emma’s lips turn up in a smirk. The kiss turned more passionate as Emma pressed closer, their tongues tangling. Emma released his shirt to cup his jaw, pressing him back against the swing. He wondered for a wild moment if she was about to straddle his lap, but his haze of lust was broken by a loud gasp and a shout of “Why, I  _ never _ !”

Both of their eyes flew open at the sound, and Emma leapt to her feet, her face bright red. Killian was so wrecked by the kiss, that he stayed rooted to the porch swing. He turned his head to see Hester Blue standing in his yard, her eyes flashing. 

“The board of elders will hear about this!” Hester shouted, pointing an accusing finger in Killian’s direction. 

He was too shocked to respond as Hester marched back over to her own house. He turned towards Emma, but she was already off the porch and crossing the yard. 

“Emma, wait!” he cried, finally rousing from his stupor and jumping from the swing. 

But Emma was already in her Bug, backing into the street. He took the porch steps in one leap, but it didn’t matter. Emma Swan practically burned rubber running away from where she very publicly made out with Pastor Jones. 

Killian was a mess the rest of the day. He tried to enjoy his morning off, but the tv was nothing but a mindless drone in the background, and he couldn’t focus on a single sentence when he tried to read. His hours at the office were useless. He normally spent Wednesday afternoons in prayer, asking for wisdom and direction for Sunday’s sermon. That day, he spent the entire time begging God to forgive him for how weak he’d been with Emma. The prayer service that night was a blur. It was the first Wednesday of the month when they prayed for the persecuted church in foreign countries, so thankfully it was led by a visiting missionary. God only knew what nonsense could have come out of his mouth if he had led the meeting. 

After the service, he climbed the steps of his porch, refusing to look at the infamous swing to his right. Not that he regretted the swing. Or the kiss. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He didn’t know  _ what  _ the right thing was with Emma anymore. 

Except for the dating app. He knew what was right in that situation. Honesty. He had to tell her he was KJ, and soon. But had it been wrong to kiss her? After all, she had kissed him back. Yes, she’d come over upset, but where was the line between spiritual counselor and friend? He didn’t know anymore. 

Once inside, he collapsed onto his couch in the dark. Through the front window, he saw the Blue’s cadillac pull into the driveway across the street. He scowled and shoved a throw pillow into his face. Hester Blue clearly had yet to follow through on her threat. And why should she? He hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t a monk, for God’s sake. Kissing a beautiful woman wasn’t a sin for any other single man in town, why should it be for him?

Killian’s phone rang, and he shifted so he could retrieve it from his pocket. He was shocked to see Emma’s name on the screen. He had thought of calling her dozens of times today, but he had thought it best to give her time. He swallowed nervously before answering. 

“Emma!” He winced. He was squeaking like a teenager!

“Uh, hey.”

“Look Swan,” he stood and paced the room as he chose his words carefully, “I want to apologize for -”

“Don’t,” she stopped him, “that isn’t why I called.”

“But Emma, I really think we need to talk about this. You came to me upset, and I never should have -”

“We kissed, okay? We’re both adults, and we kissed. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He sighed. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“But Hester Blue -”

“Is a judgmental peeping tom - or jane? What’s the girl equivalent of a peeping tom?”

Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help chuckling. The way she rambled when she was nervous was a trait he found especially endearing.

“I wouldn’t know, love.”

“Well anyways, that’s not why I called.” He could hear her sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “I want to be in Henry’s life, and he says he’d like that too, so . . . we’re having breakfast together at Ruby’s before school in the morning.”

Killian smiled tenderly, knowing what a huge step this was for Emma. “That’s great, Swan!”

“I hope so,” she muttered, and he laughed.

“It will be. He’s a sweet kid.”

“I gave him up.”

“I know,” Killian said gently, “and there may be some tough conversations ahead, but in the end, I think this is going to be really good. For both of you.”

“Now we need to save Hope House more than ever. I don’t want to take him away from what’s come to be his home, but . . . “

“You want him nearby.”

“Yeah. I do.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. He was tempted to bring up the kiss again, but he had to honor Emma’s wishes. 

“Well,” Emma finally told him softly, “it’s insane how early Henry has to be at school, so I better head to bed.”

“Aye.”

“Good night, Killian.”

“Good night, Emma.”

He was still Killian he realized after he had hung up. That was at least something. 

******************************************************

As the next week went by, Killian forgot about Hester Blue. The 5k fundraiser was fast approaching, not to mention Easter. He had to meet with the children’s minister about the egg hunt, the music director about the service, and the decorating committee about the Easter lilies for the sanctuary. Amidst all of that, he was expected to preach the sermon of the year on Easter morning - no pressure or anything. 

He was also talking to Emma more, and as Killian, not KJ. She would call after each visit with Henry, sometimes for advice, but mostly just to tell him how it went. She had also started texting him randomly throughout the day, either with little reminders or ideas about the Hope House fundraiser or just to chat about mundane things. The more she interacted with him - Killian - the less she messaged KJ on the dating app. He hoped that meant she was beginning to see him for the man he really was - just a man wanting to get to know a woman he fancied, just like the nonexistent KJ.

Only KJ  _ did  _ exist. Killian was the man Emma saw at church on Sunday and at Ruby’s getting coffee, but he was also KJ, the man she flirted with and shared funny stories with on a dating app. As a matter of fact, the more Emma interacted with him as Killian, the more the line blurred. He was having trouble remembering what he’d told her as Killian and what he’d told her as KJ. If he were brutally honest, he would admit that he was hoping Emma would just ghost KJ, and he’d never have to fess up. The rational part of him knew that it was ridiculous to think she’d never find out, but he was having a difficult time being rational when it came to Emma Swan. 

As for the kiss, Emma never brought it up again. He wondered sometimes if she thought about it as much as he did. 

Probably not. 

It was a Sunday morning, two weeks before Easter and a little less than a week before the fundraiser, when Killian got the phone call that changed everything. He always got up at five a.m. on Sunday mornings. He had to be the first one at the church, naturally, but he also liked to spend time in prayer when the sanctuary was peaceful and empty. Actually, the entire world was peaceful and empty on Sunday mornings, or at least it felt that way. He was up hours before anyone else, and in the stillness, God could center and steady him. 

Except for this particular Sunday morning. He had just gotten up when his phone rang, and he was shocked to hear Robert Gold, the head of the board of elders, on the other end. At first, his heart hammered, worried that there was some sort of emergency with someone in the congregation. When Gold informed him that they would be meeting with him before Sunday school started, he was relieved for only half a minute before a different type of worry flooded him. When he asked what this was all about, Gold snapped that he would find out at the meeting. Killian’s jaw clenched with irritation as he hung up.

He arrived at church by 5:30, but instead of a peaceful time of prayer, he paced the sanctuary fuming more than praying to God about this strange meeting in an hour. Yet when he finally walked into the adult Sunday school classroom, he felt a confidence he hadn’t felt since he was hired.

The board sat, stiff as boards at a table along the back wall facing him: Robert Gold and his second wife Belle, the Blues, and George Spencer and his wife Lois. All of them looked as if they’d been sucking on lemons except for Belle, who gave him a soft, almost sympathetic smile. Pity, great. That didn’t bode well.

“Have a seat, Pastor Jones,” Robert Gold said, gesturing to the chair across from him. The way the man said  _ Pastor Jones _ oozed with thinly veiled sarcasm.

Killian sat. “Would all of you mind telling me what this is about? I have a service to prepare for.”

Gold glanced over at Hester Blue who gave a prim nod of her head. “Well, Hester brought something to our attention a week ago, but we took no action because we were hoping it was just a one time transgression.”

“I don’t know that I would call it a  _ transgression _ ,” Belle put in, resting a delicate hand on her husband’s arm. 

“Belle, you are far too forgiving,” Gold said, “but our pastor must set an example in the community. Therefore, he must be held to a higher standard.”

Understanding finally dawned on Killian. “Is this about that kiss?”

“Kiss?” snorted Hester. “Make out session was more like it.”

Killian’s face burned. “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Mrs. Blue.”

“It isn’t just that our pastor is kissing a woman in public,” George Spencer said, “it’s the influence said woman is having on him.”

His wife nodded. “And the kind of woman she is.”

“Now wait just a bloody minute -”

But Gold cut Killian off. “We don’t expect you not to date, Pastor Jones, but we do expect you to be more careful about the kind of woman you pursue. Emma Swan isn’t exactly the right fit in our opinion.”

“The right fit for what?” 

“The position of pastor’s wife, naturally,” Hester Blue snorted.

Killian’s anger surged. “Whoever I date or choose to marry when that time comes only needs to be one thing - the woman that I love. You make it sound like a job she’s applying for!”

“Pastor Jones, you have to think rationally, not with passion,” George argued. “Just look at the effect she’s had on you already.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “You mean kissing me on my front porch? As in, my PRIVATE HOME?”

“Your house  _ does  _ belong to the church,” Gold said cooly. 

“But he needs his privacy,” Belle spoke up.

“It isn’t just that,” Hester hurried to cut Belle off, “Emma Swan is influencing our pastor in other ways. He’s been dressing . . . scandalously.”

The woman practically shuddered, and Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration.

“Yes, I started wearing jeans during the week. Oh God, I must be going straight to hell.”

Killian’s sarcasm had Hester almost hyperventilating. “Do you hear him? Now he’s taking the Lord’s name in vain!”

“Let’s all calm down,” Gold told them. “We’ve already explained all of this to Ms. Swan -”

“Wait, what?” Killian grasped the arms of the chair with a white knuckled grip. Surely he’d heard incorrectly. 

“We visited Ms. Swan last night,” Gold clarified. “I think she understood that the life of a minister isn’t for her, and -”

“How dare you!” Killian rose from his chair so fast it toppled over. “It’s one thing for you to try and dictate my private life, but to tear into an innocent woman -”

“I’d hardly call her innocent,” Hester chuckled. “You should have seen her -”

“Shut. Up.” 

The room went silent, and Hester Blue’s jaw dropped. 

“Now listen to me very carefully, “ Killian told them in a strained voice. “Emma Swan is an amazing, bloody brilliant woman, and if she were my girlfriend, I would consider myself incredibly blessed.”  
“You mean you aren’t -” George Spencer started to say, but he shut his mouth when Killian leaned close to him with a raised finger in his face. 

“I said listen,” Killian growled. “I’m tired of this board’s judgmental attitude. It’s the farthest thing from Christian, and I will not let it continue. If you want to keep acting like the Pharisees, be my guest, but you’ll have to fire me. And as for Emma Swan . . . “

_ I love her _ . He swallowed thickly before continuing. 

“She’s the best thing to ever happen to me, and if you can’t see that, then you’re blind.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He turned and rushed from the room. Before the service started, there was someone he had to see. 

*****************************************************

Killian Jones was, and always had been, an eloquent man. However, when Emma Swan opened her door that April morning, every coherent thought fled his brain. She was exquisite in a billowy cream colored blouse and dark wash jeans. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in soft waves, and her green eyes widened in a becoming way when she saw him. 

“You look . . . lovely.”

Emma smiled and her cheeks pinked. “Thanks, but a girl doesn’t go to church in her sweats, you know.”

“You’re going to church? Even after -”

Emma cut him off with a raised hand. “Please. They only made me more determined to show up.” She tilted her head and arched a brow to emphasize her point, and Killian grinned broadly. “I know you didn’t send them, Killian, it’s okay.”

“No, Emma, it isn’t okay. They were wrong - SO wrong.”

“Really?” Emma tilted her head at him. “And what were they wrong about?”

Everything she’d said, everything about how she looked since she opened the door was throwing him. His mouth went dry, and the next words that flew out of his mouth weren’t at all what he’d come to say.

“I’m KJ.” Emma’s expression didn’t change at the revelation, so he clarified. “KJ. From the dating app. But it wasn’t my idea it was -”

“David’s?” Emma asked. “Robin’s? No, let me guess - both?”

Killian shook his head. “You mean you knew?”

Emma shrugged. “Not at first, but the more we talked, I started putting it together. Especially when you would vaguely talk about your job.” She laughed. “And then you kind of started confusing what you’d told me on the app and what you’d said in real life.”

Killian groaned and shut his eyes. “I was kind of worried about that. But . . . how are you not mad? I lied to you.”

Emma’s expression softened and she took a step closer. “The stuff you told me about the pressures of your job? How you feel like hardly anyone really sees you? I understand why you did it. And that stunt the church board pulled? That only makes me understand it more.”

“Emma,” Killian reached out and took both her hands in his, “I know I’m asking a lot, what with the town, and the church, and my job, but . . . be with me?”

Emma searched his eyes, and for the first time since she’d opened the door, he saw hesitation there. “I care about you,  _ so  _ much, but maybe the board was right. I don’t know that I’m cut out to date a pastor.”

Killian grinned and cupped her face gently. “Good. Because I don’t need you to date Pastor Jones, I need you to date _ me _ \- Killian. Just Killian.”

Emma’s lips curled into a coy smile. “Just Killian? You mean, the guy who has a pierced ear that no one but me knows about?”

“Aye,” Killian laughed, “that guy.”

“Hmmm . . . “ she mused as she wrapped her arms around his neck, “I think maybe I can date that guy. Will he start wearing the earring again?”

Killian pressed his forehead to hers, unable to wipe the silly grin off his face. “Give the board some time, love. They’re still trying to get used to me wearing jeans.”

Emma giggled. “Will he wear it just for me then?”

“He might consi-”

His words were broken off when Emma jumped into his arms and pressed her mouth to his. Killian lifted her off her feet, joy surging through him. 

*******************************************************

Killian didn’t lose his job. Mr. Blue and the Spencers were actually impressed by the pastor’s backbone, and Belle thought Emma was good for Pastor Jones. So with four votes against two, Killian was staying. Mr. Blue was so inspired, as a matter of fact, he grew a backbone of his own. After that, Killian had far less interference from the board into his personal life. 

As for Hope House, it was saved. The 5k race and the carnival were a huge success. Ruby, however, didn’t get her “Kiss the Pastor” booth.

The only one kissing the pastor was his girlfriend.. 


End file.
